


Little Doe

by I_writewhatiwant



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-08 03:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_writewhatiwant/pseuds/I_writewhatiwant
Summary: Hoping to unite Houses Baratheon and Stark, Robert arranges a marriage between his eldest daughter Cerelle and Robb Stark, giving them a year to fall in love before it happens. It works.





	1. Princess Cerelle Baratheon

" _The King will have 20 children and you will have four. Gold will be three of their crowns, gold their shrouds"_

Cersei Lannister could hear the woman's voice in her head as she stared at her newborn daughter.

The first Baratheon princess, black of hair, born only eight moons after the end of the Rebellion.

The only child that would be hers and Robert's, of that she would make sure.

"Your Grace, have you and King Robert decided what to name her?" said the Maester, but she couldn't take her eyes off her daughter. _Her_ tiny daughter, who was far too eager to come into this world she could not wait the two moons left and far too fierce to perish because of it.

"Cerelle. Her name is Cerelle" Cersei spoke. _She will be a Lannister and she will not be killed_.

The King was far too smitten with the newborn when he came back from his hunt _-She has my hair, Cersei! Look at her!_ \- to bother with the fact that her name was not from his family.

It felt like a small victory for her.

* * *

 

Robert was kind to her, at first. Some days, she even found herself growing fond of the way he laughed, the way he smiled as he held Cerelle in his arms and looked down at the baby who shared his eyes and hair. She had considered herself lucky, when she had heard she was marrying Robert Baratheon.

And then there were the days when he had too much of a drink, and blamed the drink for his actions.

It was always the same, she learned not too late after that, and no matter how many times she said 'You hurt me' in the morning, he would not take responsability.

Those days, she hated him.

It was worse when he called her Lyanna.

* * *

Three moons after her birth, Cersei wakes at her daughter's crying. From her crib, the infant is red-faced, shaking her tiny tiny hands in the air.

"What's wrong, my little doe?" Cersei asks as she walks over. She touches Cerelle's face and gasps. Without losing time, she takes her baby in her arms and _runs_.

* * *

She sits by her baby's side the whole week it lasts. At first, Robert drinks and yells and punches walls- all the things men do to show they care. Then, when it's clear their child will survive, Robert drinks to celebrate.

All the things to show he cares.

* * *

Eight moons later, Joffrey Baratheon is born.

And Cerelle is then passed down to a wet nurse, not quite forgotten and yet not quite as present.

* * *

When Cerelle is four years old, she falls down while playing with other highborn ladies of her age and scrapes her knees. She runs to her Mother, not quite crying as that was _not_ what princesses did, but not happy either.

Joffrey, in all his three years of life, notices her on the doorway. He notices from where he's sitting, playing with a wooden lion, and _grins_.

"Mother!" he cries, and runs to her arms. He's wailing loudly, with fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Calm down, my little prince" her mother whispers, placing soft kisses on his forehead.

"Mother?" she asks, her hands grabbing fistfuls of her dress. She doesn't dare step closer.

"Cerelle, what happened? Joffrey, shh, it's okay"

"I...I fell down"

"What? Love, I can't hear you if you are mumbling like that. Joffrey, what happened? Why are you crying?"

"Mother...I-"

"Cerelle, go to your Septa. She can help you, I'm sure"

"Yes, Mother"

She kind of wishes her wet nurse was there, but her mother had forbidden her from coming back to the castle.

* * *

By the time Myrcella is born, Cerelle knows how to read and sing and all other kind of stuff. She learns it all by Lalia Lannister's side, daughter of her mother's uncle Tygett.

It's not what she wants to learn, though.

"Why can't I learn swordfighting?! I'm _older_ "

"And a girl" her Septa answers, rolling her eyes _unladylike_ "Girls are not supposed to play around with swords, nor are they this unrespectful and undisciplined"

Cerelle frowns and stomps her foot as Lalia sticks out her tongue at the Septa's back.

* * *

Besides Lalia, who's a year her senior, she has three other ladies-in-waiting.

She doesn't need more, she assures, as she dresses herself and the only thing they do is keep her company. Two are high-born girls, but being with Cerelle, they are not exactly proper.

There is Jenne Lannister of ten years of age, from the Lannisters of Lannisport, who's a better rider than her and a master of gossip.

There is also Dala Florent, a girl of her age and cousin to her own cousin Shireen. Dala has black hair not as dark as Cerelle's, but close enough. They have similar eyes, and people who didn't know Cerelle could confuse Dala for her. She's better than her in embroidery, but to be honest Cerelle is only acceptable.

Jeyne, a low-born girl from King's Landing's heart, is the one who fetches her water for baths, changes her bedding and brings them food. It wasn't uncommon, however, for them to invite her to eat with them. She was older, fifteen years of age, and seldom accepted their invitations, but was always grateful when she did, happy to be treated better than a servant under Cersei's commands.

* * *

She manages to slip away from her Septa and run down to her father's chambers, but her Uncle Jaime catches her before she can get too close.

"Niece. Where do you think you are going?" he puts her down and blocks her path.

"I want to see my father!" she demands, sidestepping him.

"Cerelle, I don't thin-"

"Father!" she calls, opening the door with a bang.

"The Seven Hells! What do you want, child?" Robert looks at her from his desk, putting down the quill he was using.

"I want to learn to swordfight! Or use the warhammer! I want to fight!" Cerelle says and runs to her father. He takes her into his arm and sits her on his knee.

"And why do you want that? Don't you want to sing and sew and all that crap?"

"No! I want to fight like Joffrey!"

"Bah, Joffrey doesn't know how to fight!" he tries to say under his breath, but like always, her father is too loud.

"Then I'll learn and fight wars! I'll lead the armies in your name"

"Is that what your really want, girl?"

"Yes"

* * *

The day the Rebellion is announced, she's practicing with a sword and she cries and begs her father to take her with him.

She can't help but think that he may die.

Cerelle hugs him one last time, he musses up her hair and as she watches him go away atop his horse, holding Jon Arryn's hand tightly, she wonders if he will think of his family back in King's Landing at all.

It's no secret, really, that he's not exactly fond of them.

* * *

"I wish I had golden hair, like you and Joffrey and Myrcella" she says to Lalia one evening while the Rebellion is still going on, far far away from her home.

"Why? Your hair is pretty too" Lalia says, looking at herself in the small mirror in her hands.

"But not like this" Cerelle answers as she finishes doing Lalia's hair the way the Queen does hers "My mother is beautiful and she has golden hair. I bet Myrcella will be beautiful, too, when she grows up"

"Well, _I_ think you will be beautiful too" Lalia says like it's final.

Sadly, it doesn't make her look more like a Lannister, like her siblings.

* * *

Father comes back from battle with a beard that never goes away again and aged eyes, looking older and yet acting younger.

Cerelle knew he was not honorable towards her mother, but now he doesn't even try to hide his actions. He drinks and whores in front of the whole King's Landing, embarrassing himself more than her mother will ever allow him to do to her.

She thinks it's sad, watching him fade away, or maybe be himself again.

She's not sure which is worse.

* * *

Tommen is red faced when he's born, fat and golden haired.

Myrcella is not passed off to a wet nurse.

Cerelle isn't sure if it's because her mother didn't want to make the mistake she did with her or something else.

* * *

"Mother says I'll be King" Joffrey says from the doorway, arms crossed as he leans.

"I know, Joffrey" she rolls her eyes, not stopping her reading.

"And you can't be Queen" the ten years old says.

"Not unless something happens to you and Tommen, Gods forbid" she then turns, looking at her little brother.

"And when I'm a King, I'll do what I want" he has a weird look on his face, one that perhaps should not worry her but does.

"A King can't do what they want"

"Father does"

"No he doesn't. If he did, he wouldn't be king"

"You don't know what you are talking about! Anyone would want to be king! You're crazy"

* * *

Tommen is a sweet, sweet child as is Myrcella.

Joffrey is not.

* * *

When Tommen is four, Father brings him a fawn. It's a small, delicate thing and Tommen adores it.

"I couldn't find a doe, but in my next hunt I will bring one for you, my little doe" Father says, caressing her cheek. She smiles and throws her arms around her neck.

Joffrey just looks.

* * *

Three weeks later, only a few days before her Father went into another hunt, Cerelle hears a child scream. She runs towards the sound and finds Tommen crying in front of Joffrey, whose hands are bloodied.

At his feet, a bloody mass of muscles and bones lays.

"Tommen!" she calls, running to her little brother and gathering him in her arms.

"Relle! Look what he did to Fawn!" Tommen cried, grabbing her hair in his chubby hands and hiding his face in her neck.

"Joffrey, what is wrong with you?" she says, both horrified and scared. She takes a small step back, moving Tommen away from Joffrey.

"I just wanted to learn how to skin animals!" Joffrey says, but his eyes say something completely different.

"Come, Tommen" she says, even though her littlest brother is in her arms and with no will to move by himself as sobs make him shake.

* * *

She doesn't get her own doe, and that's more than fine with her.

* * *

"You called for me, Father?" Cerelle calls from the door to her father's chambers, entering the room.

"Yes, my little doe"

As the years started to pass, the little nickname her parents used had started to shift between them. At first, her mother had used it with fondness, just as her father did now.

Lately, it hadn't been filled with the same love.

She had noticed it in the way Cersei called Myrcella a ' _lioness'_ and not a ' _doe'_ like her. She had seen the pendant hanging from her sister's neck.

The way Joffrey was sure of himself, of being a _lion_ -

She was the odd one out.

"Is something the matter?" she asks as she sits down in front of her father.

"Can't a father call his daughter from time to time to just chat?"

"Not _you_ "

"Watch that tongue, little lady, I'm still your King" he says, his voice not serious enough.

She just smiles at him.

"I wanted to give this to you" he passes her a small wooden box, able to fit her hands "I saw Myrcella's but I didn't see you wearing one. Like hells I was giving you a Lannister _anything,_ so..."

Inside the box lays a golden pendant but instead of a lion, the face of a stag rests on its middle.

"Thank you" she looks up, the begining of tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

There was little chance her father had been the one to go and buy it, but he was the one to give it to her personally.

It meant a lot to her.

* * *

She's fourteen years old when Jon Arryn comes to fetch her.

He stands beside Robert when he calls her.

"Father" she says, sitting in front of him before he says anything.

"Daughter" he's uncomfortable, she can tell by the way he doesn't look at her. "Cerelle. I-Jon, you do it"

She raises her eyebrow to Jon, who looks back at Robert.

"Robert, she's your daughter-"

"You know I can't-"

She looks amused at them both.

"Well, you have to, you were the one to offer it to Ned-" the words leaving Jon's mouth peak her interest, and she leans over in her chair as she tries to decipher what they are talking about.

"It's for the best!"

"Then _you_ tell her before Cersei-"

"Ok, wait, what does Mother have to do with it?" she interrupts, alternating between looking at her father and looking at Jon.

"You...Cerelle, you see…"

"Your father and Lord Stark have arranged it for you to be a ward at Winterfell"

" Since when-?" she starts, confused, but her father answers before she can even finish her question.

"Since the Greyjoy Rebellion"

"What?! And you didn't tell me?!"

"Cerelle-"

"NO! Why now? Why not when I was younger? I'm past the age to be a ward, I'm closer to the age for- You want to _marry me to Robb Stark_ "

"Told you she would figure it out"

"Shut it, Jon. Cerelle, you knew this was going to happen-"

"Not to a Stark. Not to the _North_ " she interrupts him again. Yes, she knew it was going to happen, but she always hoped for a warm place with the sea near her. She was so used to hear the sound of the sea from her window.

"The decision is made, Cerelle. You are princess"

 _Born between silk and gold, princess never fall in love_ , Lalia had sang once.

"Yes, Father" she answers and raises from the chair. She's out before either men can say anything.

"Cerelle" Jon calls from behind her, but she doesn't stop "Cerelle" he tries again, and when she doesn't answer, he grabs her arm "Please" he pleads, not even turning her around. His grip is not strong enough to really keep her there, but she stays anyway "I may as well have raised Ned myself. The North is not that horrible, I promise you. They are not barbarians"

"I never believed it. I just want to stay home"

* * *

A month later, she leaves through King's Landing's streets, riding Dala's mare as the girl rides in front of her, using one of her dresses and her Baratheon pendant. Her neck feels empty without it. People wave at Dala, who sends the occasional wave and smile. Four Kingsguards go with them, Lalia riding beside her.

She had insisted in no carriages,and only after a big fight had her mother agreed.

Her father had laughed and said 'Alright'. She could be counted as one more in a fight, so he worried not.

Attached to Dala's mare, a sword and a knife were hidden by Cerelle's dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was already posted in ff.net, but I wanted it to be in ao3, so here it is!


	2. Winterfell

The inn they stay at is small, a day's ride away from Winterfell. It's close to sundown and they decide to rest for the night.

Cerelle shares a room with Lalia, both girls pretty exhausted after travelling for the whole day.

"One night before I can be Cerelle again" Cerelle smiles, flopping down on the bed she had claimed as hers for the night.

"Oh, Relle, one day before you meet Robb Stark" the fifteen years old smiles back at her cousin.

"And three weeks since I last saw my family"

Her family, who had said their goodbyes in the courtyard as they waited for the horses to be ready. Tommen had cried when he had hugged her, while Myrcella had looked a little teary eyed herself. Her mother had said, again, how much she had tried to stop it, that she didn't want her daughter married off to some stranger. Father had hugged her, lifting her feet off the ground, and said he hoped she could be happy.

She knew, deep down, that her father would break off the engagement if she wished it. He and her mother wouldn't put her in the same kind of marriage they had.

Joffrey had kissed her cheek and said 'Safe travel, sweet sister', but she knew it was not really sincere.

"Do you not miss your family, Lalia?" the princess asked, watching as her cousin let herself fall on her own bed.

"I have been your companion for far too long, Relle" Lalia puts her hand up, looking at her nails in the candle's light "My father died so long ago I can't even remember him clearly, and I barely see my mother. I'll miss Tyrek, since I saw him constantly while he was your father's squire, but…" Lalia looks at her, lowering her hand and smiling "You are the closest thing I have to family, Relle"

"You are family to me, too"

* * *

The next morning, she puts on her own riding dress. She and the girls didn't travel with many, seeing as they were all southerners. Instead, they saw fit to buy more when they arrived in Winterfell.

They had had them all washed a few days ago at an inn before putting them all in a few trucks that travelled in a cart one of the Kingsguard's horses pulled.

"Cerelle" Dala knocks on their door, stepping inside as she closes the door behind her "Your necklace" she offered it, helping the princess to hang it around her neck.

"Finally, I'm me" she laughs, twirling around.

"I must admit I'll miss being a princess" Dala says as she sits on Lalia's bed, the Lannister girl fixing her hair in front of a small mirror "I _won't_ miss being you just so you don't get killed, though"

"Oh, c'mon, Dala, we were surrounded by Kingsguards, the only way you could have gotten killed would have been with an arrow...which...was the most possible way to get killed on the road...I'll shut up" Cerelle says, sitting beside Dala and resting her head in her shoulder "I'm going to miss you"

"I'll miss you too, Relle" Dala laughs, patting her head.

"You're going back to the Reach, right?" Lalia asks, straightening herself. Her hair is up in a southerner way, the last time she would wear it like that in a long time, according to her.

"Yes. I'm going to miss the sea" Dala closes her eyes, like listening to the waves of the Blackwater Bay. Her hair falls down her back, straight and free, unlike Cerelle's hair, wavy and with half of it up in twin braids in the crown of her head.

"Me too" Cerelle sighs, letting herself fall back. She'll miss the way the sand felt between her toes and the water as it licked up her calves, the laughter of Myrcella and Tommen as they bathed with her and the way the wind messed up her hair.

A knock in the door makes them all look up.

"Princess?" a voice asks "Is Lady Dala in here with you?"

"Come in, Ser Barristan" she calls, standing from the bed and fixing quickly her dress.

"Your Grace" he says, bowing his head to her "Lady Dala, Lady Lalia. We're ready whenever you are, Your Grace"

"Thank you, ser. We'll be there shortly" she smiles and the man nods before shutting the door as he leaves.

"Well, girls. It's time"

* * *

"How long till we there?" Carelle asks in a high voice, letting her mare fall into step with Lalia's and Dala's "My ass is numb!" she whispers, although not very subtly, if Ser Barristan's raised eyebrow is anything to go by.

"That castle you see there, Your Grace, is Winterfell"

"Finally! Ladies...race you there!" she laughs as she kicks her mare.

"Cerelle, you cheater!"

They stop a good meters away from the Castle, the Kingsguards not far behind them.

"Jenne would have beaten us all" Lalia sighs, patting the neck of her mare with a smile.

"Yeah, lucky you she's not here" Dala laughs, placing herself beside Cerelle "Are you nervous?"

" _Very_ " she let out a nervous laugh, closing her eyes "Do I look good?"

"C'mere" Lalia says, leaning over to brush back some hair. "There. You look like a princess"

"Ha-ha"

"Your Grace, they're opening the gates" someone says from behind her.

"Okay, okay, I can do this" she lets out a squeal before straightening herself and making her mare move forward.

For fifteen years, turned a week before she had left King's Landing, Cerelle had been a princess. It never stopped surprising her, though, the effect royalty had in people. What probably is the entirety of Winterfell kneels the moment she passes before them, including the Stark family.

She gets down her mare with the help of Ser Barristan, and walks towards the kneeling family until she stops in front of the Head of the House.

"Please" she says, clasping her hands in front of her and not rising her voice "Stand. I am just a guest here"

Slowly, first the family and then everyone else, they stand and look at her. It takes a lot for her not to start fidgeting, but she manages to control herself, just like she had to do at court.

"Lord Stark" she smiles, offering her hand for him to kiss.

"Your Grace" he starts "May I present you my family? This is my wife, Catelyn, and my youngest boy, Rickon"

"My princess" a red haired woman curtsies to her, her entire face showing a kind and calm expression.

"Lady Stark" she answers, bowing her head in return.

When she looks to the boy, he's half hidden behind his mother's skirt, so she just waves at him with what she hopes is a friendly face.

"My son, Robb" Lord Stark continues and the man on his right takes her hand then.

And he's...perfect. Dark auburn hair, clear blue eyes and the most beautiful smile she has ever seen.

"A pleasure, my princess" he smiles, kissing her gloveless, cold hand with soft, warm lips. She notices a northern accent and heat goes up her cheeks.

"My lord" she answers, and she wonders what a sight she is, after riding for good part of the day.

As she is introduced to Sansa, the eldest daughter, she can feel Robb's eyes on her.

And it was because he just couldn't stop looking at her. He had heard rumors of her mother's beauty, but he just was unable to imagine someone more beautiful than her, with her cheeks flushed in the northern air, her lips pink and the gentle curve of her neck.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Sansa" the princess says. The girl, a Tully from head to toe, smiles brightly and curtsies.

"Likewise, Your Grace" she answers, sweet in a way only innocence can be. Cerelle can only hope the girl never went to King's Landing. Sweetness rots in its heat.

"Is that a _sword_ in the princess' horse?" she hears a whisper, and she look to the side of Sansa to see a small girl, with Stark eyes and hair.

"Yes, it is" she smiles, walking the short step it takes to be in front of her "What's your name?"

"Arya" the girl answers "How did you learn to use the sword?"

"Arya!" she hears Sansa.

"It's okay. The master at arms of the red keep taught me"

"What? And your mother let you?"

"She...didn't really knew about it at first" she lets out a small laugh and winks to her. Maybe she could teach the girl a trick or two "And you?" she turns to the last boy, a cute kid of brown hair and brown eyes.

"I'm Bran" he says, giving her a wide smile.

She can't help but smile back.

"Hello, Bran"

* * *

There is a girl, older than her, who will be her handmaid from then on. Her name is Eline. She's the one who draws her bath after she's shown her chambers.

It's all in greys and browns, pale and dull compared to her chambers in the Red Keep, where she was used to greens and golds.

But it's not all that bad, compared to the inns they had stayed at while they were travelling.

Lalia and Dala appear a few hours later, after she has slept a little and bathed.

"Did any of you see the Stark's bastard brother?" Lalia asks as she does Cerelle's hair, braiding the top away from her face but letting the rest cascade down her back.

"He was standing behind them when they received us. They didn't introduce him, but the resemblance with Lord Stark is impressive" Cerelle answers. "Why?"

"Rumor has it that he's not allowed to be in the feast" Dala says from where she is looking at herself in the mirror. After Jenne, she was the best hearing the gossip.

"What?! Why?" Cerelle demands, frowning.

"Because he's a bastard, Cerelle, it could offend you" Lalia answers, finishing her hair and swapping seats to let Cerelle do hers.

"This is offending me more" she mumbles "Dala, could you do Lalia's hair? I'm going to speak with Lady Stark"

"Cerelle, don't-"

"No. I hate it when people do this" she says, opening the door and not listening anything else they had to say.

She had bastards brothers and sisters, she knew that very well. She had even met one, without the knowledge of her parents.

It wasn't even intentional, she can swear. She and her ladies had escaped the Red Keep one afternoon, wandering into the heart of King's Landing.

She had seen a smithy and she couldn't help herself, taking into account that she didn't even have her own sword, practicing with the ones in the castle.

It was weird, seeing the boy for the first time. He had her eyes and her hair, and she _knew_ those were Baratheon traits, if not because people often said it, then because the boy looked far too similar to her uncle Renly. It had been Jon Arryn who had found them.

It hadn't taken long for her to figure it out.

She had gone back twice after that.

And she had not once treated him as less than he was. Of course, he never knew her name or who she was. He called him m'lady, knew she was raised in a castle and that she paid him more than what they asked for swords and knives.

She wouldn't risk him with knowing who she was.

A servant tells her Lady Stark is helping her youngest daughter get ready for the feast.

She walks to where the girl says Arya's chambers are, and she knocks on the door twice, lightly.

"Who is it?" Lady Stark asks.

"It's Princess Cerelle, my lady" she answers herself.

"Tell her to come in"

"Cerelle, you can come in. Oh, thank you Cerelle" she jokes as she opens the door and steps inside.

"Your Grace! I-I didn't-" she looks embarrassed, standing behind Arya.

"It's okay, Lady Stark. You wouldn't believe how many times it's happened" actually none, but she doesn't have to know "I'm here to talk about a matter that came to my attention not long ago"

"What is it? I'm sure we can solve it-"

"It's about Jon Snow"

"What about him? Is he okay? Mother-" Arya looks _scared_ , looking between the older people on the room for answers.

"Rest assured, princess, he won't be-" Catelyn starts, but she interrupts her before she can keep going.

"I want him on the feast"

"Pardon me?" she blinks a few times, looking like she can't believe what the princess is staying.

"I want him present in there" when she sees Lady Stark open her mouth, she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. She's a princess, she has to remind herself, and if she doesn't try to change things, then no one would.

"Yes, Your Grace" Lady Stark says. Cerelle nods at her, and turn to leave.

She hasn't made it very far before she hears her name called.

"Princess Cerelle!" Arya is running behind her, her hair only halfway done.

"Arya, what happened?"

"Thank you! Thank you!" the girl throws herself at her, hugging her around the waist "Nobody ever did that. _Thank you_ "

"You're welcome, Arya"


	3. Feast

It's different, in Winterfell. Not only the castle itself is a far cry from the Red Keep, but the atmosphere that the feast creates is not anything she has ever lived.

It's not like the feasts in the gardens back home, where there were bards and dancers and fools. No, here, in the Great Hall of Winterfell, the music is more drums and catchy letters rather than the love songs from the south.

People wear darker colors, wools, linens and furs, not the bright colored silks and see-through fabrics from the South, and she can see them laughing as they speak, not engaging in the noses-turned-upwards conversations that always happened in the capital.

She sits by Lord Stark's right, having refused the central seat. They sit at a raised table, while the children of Winterfell sit below, eating and laughing with their companions.

Cerelle can see Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole talk with Lalia and Dala, and not far, Arya, Bran and Rickon eating, sharing laughs and hits and shoves from time to time.

Closer to the edge of the table, she can see Theon, Jon and Robb, and while she knows they all grew up together like Dala, Lalia, Jenne and herself did, there is a distance between them, there is something that shows between the looks Jon and Theon give each other. She's not sure what is it, but she thinks it may have to do with being a bastard and a prisoner post war raised alongside the future Lord of Winterfell.

From what she sees, Robb is laughing and clapping Jon's shoulder, and for the whole time she has been in Winterfell -which is not that much, honestly-, she has only seen Robb treat them as friends.

And...well, she can't say she understands, but she thinks she gets it.

"Lord Stark" she says, bowing her head to the man "If I may be excused, I would like to speak with your children"

"Please" he smiles, returning the bow of his head.

She walks over to the place where Sansa and her girls are sitting, thinking it wise to start talking with people she knows.

"Hello, girls" she smiles, sitting in the space Dala and Lalia make for her between themselves. She steals a piece of bread from Lalia's plate and munches on it as Lalia frowns at her.

"Princess!" Sansa bows her head, trying to stand. She swallows before she addresses the girl.

"Please, Sansa. Sit. I'm going to be staying here for quite a long time, so don't think you have to address me as that every time you see me. Cerelle is just fine" she places the piece back to Lalia's place, where the Lannister girl snatches it away from the princess' reach.

"She calls it 'princess nonsense' when we call her that in private" Lalia smiles, turning her attention to the younger girl "And you _could_ be sisters"

"Would you like that, Sansa?" Cerelle asks, reaching across the table to take the girl's hand in her own.

"Yes, Your-Cerelle. Very much"

"I think I would like it very much too" she returns Sansa's smile with one of her own before letting go of her hand.

The younger girl reminds her of Myrcella. Her sister is also a sweet, delicate thing and she misses her and Tommen the most.

"If you would excuse me, my ladies, I would like to have the opportunity to speak with all the Starks and there are quite a few"

"You just want to speak to one Robb Stark" Lalia laughs at her, speaking low enough so just her and Dala hear her.

"Shut up" she mumbles as she walks to where the younger Starks sit.

She stands beside Arya, just watching as the girl loads her spoon with food with no intentions of eating.

"I hope that doesn't land on your sister's face" she says, placing her hands on Arya's shoulders and leaning down to speak more closely "If you don't throw it, I'll teach you how to use a bow"

Not exactly the easiest for her, but it's slightly more acceptable for a girl to learn how to use a bow than a sword. She is not exactly eager to insult the Lord and Lady of the House by pushing their youngest daughter towards _unladylike activities_.

"Sword" Aya frowns, turning her head to talk to her.

"Bow and then maybe sword"

"Fine" she turns back to her food, not trying to throw it this time.

Close to her, Bran is nodding off, Rickon sleeping with his head resting on the table.

"Hey Bran" she says, crouching beside him.

"Princess!" he sits straighter, looking at her with still sleepy eyes.

"Can you walk? I'll take you both to your room, okay? You just need to tell me where it is"

The boy tries to refuse, but in the end he gives in. She takes Rickon in her arms before she helps Bran stand and she has barely made it out of the door when she hears a voice calling for her.

"Your Grace, you shouldn't" Lord Robb says to her, stopping a few feet before her with Jon at his side. Both of them bow their heads at her.

"It's no trouble, really, and please, do not call me 'Your Grace', my lord. Neither you, Jon. I hope you enjoyed the feast" she has Rickon on her hip and Bran leaning against her other side, the arm not holding the youngest boy firmly placed around him.

"Very much, Your Grace"

"What did I just said? Cerelle is fine" she smiles.

"Please, give us Rickon and Bran" Robb says, trying to take the boy from her arms. He's not happy about it though, and whimpers as he holds himself close to her neck.

"You'll wake him up if you take him. Just point me to their chambers, my lord"

"I'll take Bran, then"Jon says, walking towards the not-yet-asleep kid. He takes him in his arms easily and Bran does not protest, resting his head on his bastard brother's shoulder with ease.

The three of them walk in a comfortable silence through the castle, Robb leading the way to open Bran's door for Jon.

"Princess, this way" he says, leading her to a room a few doors down "Rickon is the youngest, so he sleeps closer to our Father and Mother's chambers" he explains, stopping in front of a door.

"I understand. Tommen sleeps close to my Mother's chambers too"

Her parents had never shared chambers. They visited each other's when they had to do their duty, but it never went any further. Joffrey had his chambers close to Father's, the crown prince chambers. Rhaegar Targaryen himself had slept there while he was alive, as had dozens of Targaryen princes before.

She had the princess' chambers, where Elia Martell had slept and bore her children, feeding them from her own chest and not allowing any wet nurse near them, something Cerelle admires and wishes for the chance to do it.

It was the same room where she had been raped and killed along with her children.

Robb holds the furs on his bed open as she lays down the boy, taking off his boots and not daring to do anything else. Had it been Tommen or Myrcella, she would have stripped them to their small clothes so they would be more comfortable, but she has no trust to do that to Rickon.

She pushes away some hair from her forehead and smiles.

"Tommen used to be like this when he was younger, you know? Always falling asleep in feasts that lasted too long" she steps away from the bed and starts walking towards the door. She turns around for a second to see Robb kissing Rickon's forehead.

She hopes he would be as kind to their children if she ever did marry him.

"You must miss your family a lot" he says as he closes the door once they're out.

"More than I thought I would. I spend a month in Storm's End without missing them as I did in the road" she sighs.

"You were a small party, why did you come all the way from King's Landing by the King's Road instead of by ship?"

"Dala posed as me, and she gets sea sick. Me and Myrcella spent whole days in the open sea. It would have been a little suspicious if the princess suddenly got sea sick when she never had, and my mother wanted to make that I was as safe as possible"

"I'm sorry you couldn't spend more time with them" he offers her his arm and she takes it without hesitation.

"It's alright. I knew it was going to happen"

"Coming North?"

"Being married off" she realizes a little too late the way she phrased it. Cerelle freezes for a few seconds, stopping completely her walk before looking up to him. He doesn't look angry, more amused than anything "My lord, I-"

"I hope I can make make you feel it was worth it coming here"

"Me as well" she smiles a little, ducking her face to look at her feet.

"Shall we go back? I would love to have a dance with you"

"Thank the gods that's one thing I'm good at"

"One thing?"

"I'm not particularly good at many things. I'm just too stubborn to give up before I'm at least acceptable"

* * *

Dala sits beside Lalia, a cup of wine in her hand as well as Lalia' watches Cerelle being twirled around by the future Lord of Winterfell. She laughs and places her hand on Robb's, dancing more freely than she ever did back in King's Landing.

Cerelle had always been light on her feet. Since they were children, Cerelle had been light. Not graceful nor delicate, not unless she tried, but there is a lightness to her feet, it's an effortless movement every time one of her feet leaves the ground. She had been quick to learn dances, too, remembering steps and twirls much easier than she, Jenne or Lalia had.

And she looks happy in Robb Stark's arms. He tells her something and she blushes, turning her eyes away from him and catching Dala's eyes. She smiles to the princess and the girl returns it happily.

"You'll take care of her, won't you?" she asks, without taking her eyes off the princess. She knows Lalia is listening. When you grow up in King's Landing, you learn to listen. She isn't as good as herself, and neither are even as close as Jenne is, but they know how to do it. The four of them do.

"Of course. Although this place is not nearly as dangerous as King's Landing" Lalia looks at her cousin too.

The girl is not much Lannister, if only her nose and maybe the curve of her lips. Cerelle and Dala, sharing no blood between them, look more alike than Lalia and the princess do. She knows she looks more like Myrcella, more like Tommen and Joffrey. It's a wonder, really, why they look so Lannister while having the same amount of that family blood as Cerelle, or why the other princes and princess do not look the Baratheon part.

It doesn't happen in the Stark family. While Robb and Sansa have the Tully looks, and Arya has the Stark ones, Bran and Rickon are a middle ground. The family is diverse and _theirs_. You look at them and you cannot deny they are Catelyn and Eddard Stark's children. Even with Sansa and her Southern looks, there is just a Northern air around her, though Lalia could tell Sansa tried to mask it.

"But that danger reaches everywhere in the world, doesn't it?" she sips from her cup and turns to look at Dala.

The dark haired girl just nods.


	4. Godswood

By the time Robb escorts her back to her chambers, she's ready to fall asleep.

It was easy to lose track of time, song after song, when in his company. He was funny and a good dancing partner. She had known knights back in King's Landing that could not dance as half as well as Robb did.

She knows that the next day is full of things to do, starting with dress fittings for Lalia and her, as Dala was leaving soon. She would miss her friend, but the girl wanted to go back to her family and she could not deny it to her.

With heavy feet, she drags herself to the small desk in her room. Taking ink and parchment, she grabs her quill and writes.

_Dearest Myrcella and Tommen_

_In the whole day I have been here, Winterfell has been nothing but warm. Well, not really, but it is a nice place and the people are as well. I hope you can visit me someday soon, as it has been barely a few week since I last saw you and I miss you both dearly._

_Take a good trip to the sea if you can for me, will you? Winterfell is very far from the sea, and I'm not sure how I'll be able to sleep without its sounds tonight. Play on the gardens for me. You know the place I liked, please make sure the plants there are looked after._

_And both of you, kick Pycelle's ankles if this letter has the seal open. I taught both how to know._

_Tell Mother I'm fine, safe and sound. We had no troubles in the road, luckily._

_If Father asks, tell him I'm happy. Truly, I think I will be here._

_If any of you see Jenne, tell her I miss her very much and hope she's happy with her new husband._

_Please, write me back as you as you can. I want to know everything you do._

_Love, your sister_

_Princess Cerelle Baratheon._

In the end, it is quite a letter that she has to fold several times for it to fit the raven. As an afterthought, she grabs another piece of paper.

_Father_

_Thank you._

_Cerelle._

She undresses by herself. Ever since she could have a say in her dresses, she had them all made simple enough so she could slip out of them without help. Of course, that has to be the only simple thing, since she's a princess and could not look anything but _the best_.

She wakes early, far earlier than she did in King's Landing; the cold is too much for her to sleep more.

Her nose is so cold she can barely feel the tip by the time she realizes she's freezing because she slept with her window open.

Lalia and Dala knock on her door when she's putting on her shoes and walk with her to find the maester, who smiles at her and kindly accepts the letters she has written. With his quill, she writes _Myrcella and Tommen_ on the outside of their letter. Somehow, he looks more trustworthy that Maester Pycelle, but then again, that is not very hard to accomplish.

They go down to breakfast after being told by Maester Luwin where it's held.

Breakfast is held in a much smaller room, and this time only the Stark family, Jon, and Theon are present.

They're halfway through the meal when Lord Stark speaks to her.

"Princess, from the moment you have fitting clothes and feel ready, Sir Rodrik Cassel, our Master at Arms, will take care of your training here in Winterfell"

"Thank you, my lord" she smiles, trying to ignore the way Lady Stark looks at her.

"So the princess knows how to use a sword?" Theon Greyjoy asks from two seats down. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, yes, sword, spear, bow and arrow, I tried the warhammer for a while too" she says, lifting her fingers as she lists the weapons.

" Wouldn't have thought the King would let his daughter learn how to fight" she lets out a laugh that sounds too much like a bark to be ladylike but she can't find it in her to care. From beside her, she can hear the soft laughter of her friends.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" she says "It's just that...well, Father didn't want to teach me at first, but then I just said my brother couldn't fight and he'd need someone to lead armies in his name and he just...agreed after that" she shrugs.

"Robb" Lady Catelyn calls before they can say anything else "Would you please show the princess and her ladies around? I'm sure they didn't get to see much yesterday"

"My lady, that won't be necessa-"

"It would be my pleasure" Robb smiles at her. She blushes as she sees him look at her, and can hear faintly Arya making gagging sounds until Sansa steps on her foot.

Robb is good. He's not like Joffrey, who walks through halls like he owns them all, but like herself, waving and nodding and naming people as much as they can.

"You got lucky" Lalia and Dala fall into step with her when Robb, with a ' _excuse me, my ladies, if you would wait a few seconds_ ', stops to talk with a man.

"I know" she whispers, turning her head to look at her cousin.

After having lunch, Lady Stark herself leads the three girls to a dressmaker.

When the petite woman is measuring her, Cerelle starts to tell her what she wants.

She wants to be able to take them off herself, she wants at least one pocket hidden, she wants them to end two fingers before reaching the floor and she wants them in grey, green, blue and details in black.

She's a princess and she's going to make the best of it.

Lalia asks for her own preferences, red and golden and simple enough she can take them off herself, but not so much that she looks less than the Lady of Lannister she is.

After that comes dinner and after dinner, she sits with Sansa and Arya to sew, although if she's honest, she's not as good as Dala is. No one is.

"Oh, Lady Dala, that is beautiful!" Sansa cries when she sees the fox Dala is making.

Cerelle hears them speaking, but she doesn't look up from the very abnormal looking stag she's trying.

"Did your Septa teach you?" she hears Arya from her side.

"Well...she tried" she smiles, showing her poor attempt in brown and black "My sister, Myrcella, she's really good at this. Sometimes she would fix mine so our Septa wouldn't get mad at me for being so incompetent. I just don't understand how it makes me a better princess"

"I don't get it either. Northern women use embroidery because we don't use the pretty jewels you use in the South, but I don't want to use either, so I don't understand why I need to learn!"

Cerelle just smiles at her.

* * *

Dala is only staying until the next morning, so the three girls stay the night in the princess' chambers. It's something they are used to do, having slept together since they were children, back in King's Landing, where Cerelle's bed was big enough for the four of them.

"I hope you are happy back at the Reach" Cerelle says. She's lying between both ladies, the three of them on their backs.

"And I hope you two are happy here. How long are you staying here for, Lalia?"

"Probably until Cerelle has her first child. Then I'll probably go back to Casterly Rock to get married. I'm not sure, Mother and I didn't speak about it before I left"

"You could always marry someone from here" Cerelle whispers, turning her head to look at the blonde "I'm sure Lord Stark would find you someone, if we asked"

"I think he would if you asked. Or if Robb asked. Everyone knows Starks hold no love for Lannisters"

"I'm half Lannister!"

"You're half Baratheon"

"if what they say Grandfather Tywin had the Mountain do is true" Cerelle starts slowly, trying to choose her words "and I don't think Lord Stark would lie about it, then they have every right to be horrified. Elia Martell died in a terrible, cruel way and they did nothing to the man who killed her and her children"

"If there was ever a war...do you think you would be killed like that?" Dala asks, almost like she doesn't realize she's speaking.

"No, I don't think so" Cerelle answers, frowning a little "Well, at least I hope not"

"Why not? You are the princess, after all"

"Yeah, but...my grandfather wouldn't have me killed...would he?"

* * *

The next morning, they get ready slowly, silently. Dala is leaving with the Kingsguard, leaving behind only Cerelle, Lalia and Cerelle's sworn sword, Ser Aedan. She didn't really know him, as he had traveled for the most part of the way from King's Landing near Dala, but he seemed to be a nice knight.

"Write to me, alright? I want to hear everything" Cerelle smiles, taking Dala's hands on her own.

"Of course, princess"

"I'll hit you" she warns, but the smile never leaves her face,as sad as it is. She'll truly miss Dala, just as she misses Jenne.

She gives the dark haired girl a last hug before stepping aside so Lalia can say her farewells.

There are no big feasts when she leaves. No party to see her off, nothing. Dala just rides away, just like that, and suddenly Cerelle realizes she may as well never see her again.

"Cerelle?" Lalia asks from her side, touching her arm to snap her out of it.

"Yes?"

"I feel like I'll be catching a cold. I-"

"Go to you chambers, try to sleep a little. Do you need anything?"

"No, no. I just wanted to know if you were going to be okay by your own"

"Of course. Go have some rest and don't worry about me. I'm a big princess" she smiles to her cousin, ushering her towards the castle. She stands there for a little, looking around, until a hand on her arm pulls her attention towards Robb.

"Yes, my lord?" she asks, shaking her head a little to clear her head. Now is not the time to be thinking about whether or not she made the right decision. She had already made it, and it was far too late to go back, even though she had not, technically, agreed to marry Robb Stark yet.

"Do you need to get away from this?" he takes her hand, palm open. If she wants to pull away, she can.

She doesn't.

"Yes, please"

There is a godswood in the Red Keep, but it's not as impressive as the one Winterfell has. Things in the north are darker, colder and wetter, but not any less beautiful.

The weirwood stands tall, ancient and proud near a small pond. Close by are the warm springs that keep the castle warm and she wonders out loud if people can use them.

"Yes, although it is wise to take someone with you, in case somebody else has the same idea" Robb smiles.

She walks towards the white and red tree, her back to Robb, lifting her hand to touch it but deciding against it.

"You can touch it, you know" she hears him say.

"They always made more sense. The old gods. Why would there be so many perfect gods? Isn't it more natural to think an all powerful being as a nature spirit? How could we be more powerful than things that were created thousand of hundreds years ago" she touches the tree then. A shiver runs down her spine "What gods do you pray to, Robb?"

"The old and the new" he answers.

"And under what gods would we marry?"

"Whichever ones you prefer. You are the princess, after all"

"But I'll be just a Lady once you become a Lord. And I'll have northern children and act as a northern lady" she turns around to look at him "I want to marry under the old gods"

"As you wish"

She sits then on a root, looking up at him as she waits for him to do the same.

"You would be patient, wouldn't you? If we marry?"

"I would try to be. My mother is a southerner, so I know things are a bit different for you-"

"I feel alone. Dala left, and Lalia will leave someday, maybe soon. I don't know anyone here"

"You know me. You can always talk to me, I promise. And my sisters like you, they will help you settle down. Well...Sansa more so than Arya. She'll just ask you to teach her how to fight"

"I'd feel better with her doing that"


	5. Times go by

It's a little hard to get used to Winterfell, but once she does, she starts to see why her father always spoke highly of it, despite the fact he had never lived in it. Probably never visited either.

Cerelle sees her first summer snow when she's been living there for almost two months.

She remembers some of the only winter she lived, but in King's Landing snow was not something one saw much, not even in winter, so for her it's something very new.

"It's...wet" she says, lifting her skirts and frowning at her boots.

"Relle, snow is water" Lalia says, sitting in a bench close to her.

"I know, but I didn't expect it to melt so easily" she laughs, seeing the hem of her dress ruined by mud.

"It's just a summer snow. Winter snows can fall until you're buried deep down"

"Good morning, Robb!" Cerelle smiled.

"Your Grace, My Lady" he bows his head, taking her hand and kissing the back of it "My mother sent me to tell you that your new clothes arrived early this morning"

"Really?! Lalia! I can train now!"

"I can't believe you didn't realize you didn't have trousers until two weeks ago" Lalia rises from the bench, dusting off her dress.

"I was busy. _We_ were busy"

A little while after she arrived, she has started to get to know Winterfell a little better. She had asked every Stark children to show her something of Winterfell and so she had been led through the cript, through the maester's tower, through the Godswood. Not everyday she got to do it and so she spent many days sewing, sitting through lessons with the Stark children and relearning many things she had already learned.

She had even gone to the little winter town just outside Winterfell's walls. It was small, much, much smaller than King's Landing. She wandered around, Lalia and Ser Aedan close by.

Robb and Theon had offered to show her around the town, but she had refused both of them, as she preferred to see around on her own. Lalia was pretty good with orientation, and so she had been left the task of making sure the princess was not lost. Usually, ser Aedan would have been responsible for it, but neither girl had promised not to wander off as they usually did when they went into King's Landing.

Next on her list is the Wolfswood, but it's not an urgent matter. It's not like she's going away anytime soon.

The trousers fit her like a glove and in no time she's outside, picking a training sword and swinging it around to get used to the feeling of it after so long without touching one.

"You up for a fight, my lady?" Ser Aedan asks from a few feet away.

"Always" she smiles, fixing her stance.

Back at King's Landing, Ser Aedan was not sworn to her until a few days before she left and even then, he spent most of the journey close to Dala as she was supposed to be her.

If something was to happen, however, he was to leave Dala alone and run to Cerelle. The princess was the top priority in security matters.

Never before had she fought against him, but she had watched him here in Winterfell.

She was lean, and it worked in her favour. Aedan was good, he had to be if he was to protect her, and she honestly was impressed with how long she could hold her own against him, since she hadn't held a sword in almost two months.

"Round two" she smiles as she picks up the training sword from where it fell when she was disarmed.

Lalia helps her wash her hair before supper, pouring scented oils on her skin and hair before helping her dress.

"I missed the ache that comes from training" she smiles at Lalia as they go down the stairs from her room.

"Doesn't surprise me. You never stood still for long. Almost three months was too much for you"

"I know. Ser Aedan was as good as Mother said he was"

"Your breathing is getting better, isn't it?"

"I haven't had an attack in a long time…" Cerelle frowns, looking back at Lalia "I feel like you're just calling the bad luck in"

"It doesn't work that way"

* * *

"So, Princess. I couldn't help but be interested when I saw you this afternoon, very happy training with your sworn sword" Theon smirks from a few seats away.

"Oh, yes. I hadn't even held a sword since I got here, Ser Aedan was more than willing to help me get back into shape" she smiles at him, taking a bite from her meal.

"Tell me, just how good are you with bow and arrows?"

"Better than with a spear, that's for sure"

"Well, you should know we Greyjoys are known for our archery skills, that and lovema-"

"Theon, enough" Lady Catelyn cuts him off with a glare from her seat beside her husband. On Lord Stark's other side, Robb is raising an eyebrow in the same way his father is doing.

"Just stating facts, my lady" Theon raises his hands, lifting an eyebrow in the princess' direction with a cocky glint in his eyes.

"Tomorrow, before noon" Cerelle nods, lifting her cup to her lips.

"You Baratheons never back down from a challenge" Lord Stark says, smiling in her direction.

She can only shrug.

* * *

The next morning after breakfast, in the bridge that overlooks the courtyard, Lord and Lady Stark together with their youngest children and Lalia watch over Cerelle and Theon, while Jon and Robb watch from the sides.

"Best out of ten?" Theon walks to her, two bows on his hands. The arrows are stuck in the ground in front of them.

"Seems fair" she nods, grabbing the bow he's offering to her.

"Ladies first, then" he says as he bows, stepping aside.

"Go, Cerelle!" she hears Rickon and Bran yell as she picks one of the arrows, and then Arya "Kick his butt, princess!"

She takes a deep breath as she looks at the mark, nocking the arrow before drawing and letting loose quickly.

Bullseye.

"Your turn, Greyjoy" she smirks, sweeping her braid from her shoulder to her back.

"It was luck, princess" he says as he looks at her arrow.

Eight turns later, she's winning by one.

"Did I ever tell you how I learned?"

"No, I don't think so" Theon grits his teeth, nocking his ninth arrow "Was it your Master at Arms in your great palace?"

"Actually, no, it was a man from Joffrey's last birthday tournament" she says as he draws, making him lower the bow.

"What?"

"Well, I wanted to lean, so I went with the best there was around" she shrugs and Theon goes back to pointing the bow.

"Sometimes I can't believe you're a princess"

"Yeah, it happe...ha…" Cerelle grabs her chest, her other hand letting go of the bow, which falls to the ground at her feet.

She's literally breathless, gasping for air. She knows whats happening. Didn't she tell Lalia it was calling back luck to her if they spoke about it?

"Princess?" Jon asks, turning around from where he and Robb are watching Theon and taking a few steps towards her.

"I…" she starts to speak, but finds herself unable to get the words out. Her chest starts to tighten, a wheeze leaving her lips as she tries and fails to breathe.

"She's having an attack!" she hears Lalia scream, almost like she was far, far away.

"What do we do?!" she hears Jon, as he steps closer to her, catching her as her legs fail her.

"What?" she hears Robb "What's happening?"

"Take her to the Maester, for fuck's sake!" Lord Stark barks, and she can feel someone sweeping her off her feet.

She starts to feel desperation, not being able to breath.

"Her lips are turning blue!" Jon says and she can feel as he runs as fast as he can while carrying someone her size.

"Maester Luwin will know what to do!" Lalia says from somewhere behind them, the rest of the Starks with her.

By then, she's too far gone, clawing at her chest to try and get some air in it, wheezing in her attempts. She doesn't know what they are saying anymore.

Robb is ahead of them, running up the stairs of the Maester's Tower.

"Maester Luwin!" he shouts, knocking on the door of his study before pushing it open. There's no one there.

Robb turns on his heels and runs back down the stairs, where he almost runs into Jon.

"He's not in there. Where's Cerelle?" he takes one second to catch his breath before starting to run again, Jon by his side this time.

"I left her in one of the rooms. Robb, wait! Lalia knew what to do, she's helping Cerelle until the Maester comes"

"What if he doesn't?!" Robb doesn't turn around, just keep running.

"Robb! Everyone saw what happened!" that makes him stop "They'll tell the maester and he'll come here! You're just going to be running in circles. Go and keep the princess company. Help Lalia"

"Okay...okay...but if something happens…"

"Nothing will happen"

* * *

Cerelle passes out at some point, and by the time she comes to her senses again, probably just a few seconds later, the Maester is sitting close to her and the smell of the mix Lalia always uses on her is strong in the air.

"Princess Cerelle" the Maester calls for her, and she turns to look at him slowly "You're very lucky that your friend here knew what to do in these kinds of attacks"

"Lalia's always been there for me" she smiles. She notices that the only people in the room apart from her and the Maester are Arya, Robb and Lalia.

"These attacks, they're not from being born premature"

"No. The fever she had as a baby, it left this consequences. They just...happen" Lalia answers for her. She never liked when she talked too much after an attack.

"Wheezing fever. The best we can do now is let her rest" the Maester nods.

She likes him, this Maester. There's something kind on him, something that makes her trust him. Perhaps it helps that his chain is heavy with medicine links.

"I don't want to leave her!" Arya says, standing up from the chair she was sitting in.

"Arya, she always feels tired after an attack" Lalia tries to talk her out of it, but Cerelle knows the look on Arya's face. If she's honest, she's had it on her own face several times.

"It's okay. They can stay" Cerelle speaks. Her voice sounds weird, but she's used to it after so many years.

"I had never heard my father curse before" Arya says after Maester Luwin leaves, sitting at her side on the bed.

"He was really scared. We all were" Robb speaks, coming to stand behind Arya.

"I guess it can be scary if you've never seen it" she mumbles, looking at her feet. Someone took the time to take off her muddy boots.

"Mother had to take Rickon away, he was crying so hard"

"Why don't you tell him I'm fine? I want to rest for a little before seeing anyone else" she smiles to Arya, who nods before leaving.

"We were worried" Lalia speaks from her spot near the window "It was one of your worst. You hadn't passed out since so long"

"I know. I _am_ worried. You know it can get worse"

"What? What are you talking about?" Robb asks, now sitting in the spot Arya left.

"Soon after I was born, I caught a fever. A maid had it" Cerelle starts to explain.

"Some thought it was intentional" Lalia sighs, turning to face them.

"The Wheezing Fever is hard to fight. I almost died more than once in that week" Cerelle keeps going "And it...kind of never goes away. I have these attacks where I can't breathe. Sometimes it's just hard and sometimes it's impossible"

"We can't catch it because she's not...she's not _sick_ anymore. These problems are just...consequences" Lalia shrugs, waving her hand and frowning. They're never really sure how to explain what happens to her.

"What you did, it helps her?"

"It's the only way of stopping an attack we have"

"Then I want to learn"


	6. She's coming

"Bran! Get down from there!" Cerelle yells, hands on her hips as she looks up.

"But Relle-" Bran starts complaining, way too up in the tower for her to be comfortable with it.

"Brandon!"

"Coming, coming" he starts getting down, and she knows he's careful and good at climbing, but she can't help feeling nervous.

"You know it's not safe, right?"

"But I never fall" he says, looking at her in the eyes.

Cerelle knows the Starks have done everything to keep Bran from climbing. Maester Luwin showed him what could happen if he fell, his parents talked to him, but the boy kept climbing and they kept worrying.

"I know, Bran, but it could happen" she puts a hand on his head and starts walking back to the hall, where they're supposed to be having lunch.

His hair is so soft, a nice shade of brown that goes well with his eyes. The little boy is so nice, so cute she can't help the way she feels about him. He, in a way, reminds her of her own little siblings, and yet she knows he's her own person. In the thirteen months she's been there, Bran had proved himself to be a smart kid, kind and so happy.

"I won't fall. I won't"

"Okay" she smiles. She pushes his shoulder towards the Hall's doors, walking slower behind him.

An empty space is between Lalia and Robb, the place now assigned to her. She sits in front of Arya, winking at the girl with a smile.

For a month now, she'd help Arya ditch her Septa to help her with the bow in the Godswood. It's not really a secret to anyone, and she knows there is disapproval from the Lord and Lady of the House, but they haven't said anything, so she wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"Good afternoon" she says, placing her hands on the table.

"Good afternoon, Cerelle" Lord Stark says, Lady Stark nodding to her with a smile from her husband's side "Maester Luwin told me to remind you, you have lessons with him after"

"I know, I remember" she nods, looking at Robb with a smile.

Even though she's a princess and she was well educated from a young age, the North is so different from the South she has to learn new things before even thinking of being Lady of the House.

Not only the people she would rule in the King's name would be different, but everything from customs to trading.

Maester Luwin had proved to be not only wise but also patient with her, taking time to explain the things she did not understand quite well.

"Your Grace" Maester Luwin says as she goes into one of the rooms in his Tower.

"Maester" she bows her head, sitting in front of him "What will I be learning today?"

"How much Valyrian do you know?"

"High Valyrian, I learned with my Uncle Tyrion. I want to think we're...average, at worst. Low Valyrian, on the other hand...I don't think I could even try to talk to anyone from Essos who didn't know the Common Tongue"

"How about we work a little on that? Every city has come to develop a new kind of Valyrian, but we can train in those used in the cities we trade with the most"

"I thought they spoke the Common Tongue" she frowns, cocking her head to the side.

"Yes, they do" he answers and leaves it at that.

"Then why do I have to learn?" she insists. She hates when people won't give her good answers.

"Why did they have to learn the Common Tongue?"

"To...trade with us? But it's the _Common_ Tongue!"

"Common to _whom_?"

"...to us" she realizes, and then she doesn't argue anymore.

One trait that is Baratheon in her is her stubbornness. Bull head, Lalia would to call her. It took a good argument for her to change her mind and even then, it was hard for her to leave behind the thoughts.

A knock brings the lesson to a stop.

"Yes, come in" Maester Luwin says.

"Maester, I need to speak with Cerelle. Would it be possible-?"

"Go. We'll continue tomorrow, this time with Robb"

"Thank you, Maester" Cerelle bows her head, getting up to leave with Lalia.

"Follow me" Lalia says, taking her by her hand and guiding her towards her room.

"What's wrong?" Cerelle asks once they are in her room, door closed behind them.

"I need you to keep Ser Aedan by your side at all times. _All times_ , Cerelle"

"Why?"

"Jenne wrote. Your mother might try to take you back, and if the times comes, he needs to be there to protect you. Remember Lyanna Stark? We don't need that happening again"

"But...I chose to be here. I _want_ to be here"

"Your mother doesn't seem to think that"

"I don't care about that!"

"There is nothing we can do from here. Sending a raven is too dangerous"

"I just don't understand…why would Mother try to take me back?"

"Don't ask me to try and understand your Mother"

Her Mother was… not a simple person. She had told her she loved her and she had put up a fight when she was to leave for the North, but in her years alive, she had not cared much about anything but Joffrey. Often, not only her but also Myrcella and Tommen had been left aside, had been ignored in her Mother's obsession with her eldest son.

Truth be told, the three of them had been raised by Septas and servants more than their own parents. Even if her Father had payed more attention to her than her Mother, he did not exactly have an active role in her rising, not to mention Myrcella and Tommen's. It was, in a sense, what had made her so close to them. Be it as it was, different hair, different eyes, they were family and she did not like children being left behind.

She wasn't sure if it was her black hair, her Baratheon temperament, or what had made her Father actually care, but he cared and that was amazing on its own right.

"When?" she just sighs, looking at Lalia with resigned eyes.

"I don't know"

"Very well then"

* * *

The next day, she and Ser Aedan are walking when they come across Arya. She's by herself in the training yard, and Cerelle knows very well that, even is she can train, Arya herself cannot. And yet, the dark haired child is training with the bow and one lone arrow. Looking around, she notices no one is near them.

"Stay near, Ser Aedan" she says to the man behind her.

"Your Grace" she hears him bow and with a glare, she reminds him she had told him to stop that nonsense.

"Arya" she says, attracting the attention of the young girl.

"Relle!" She's surprised, and as she turns around, she hides the bow behind her "What are you doing here?"

"I did promise, didn't I? C'mon, show me your stance"

She refrains herself from correcting too much on her. Arya has some understanding of it, having watched her brothers all her life and Cerelle feels that the girl would feel better if she hit bullseye by herself.

The hours go by with her standing behind the child and Arya trying and trying and trying, going to pick the one arrow she has to use.

And then, she does it. The arrow hits dead center, sticking there with a satisfying sound.

And a slow clap sounds behind them.

Cerelle knows, with all the time she has spent in Winterfell, that while Arya loves her Mother fiercely, her Father has a place in her heart a hundred times more special. The way her face lights up, her eyes shine; it speaks a thousand words she would never say outloud.

She gives her Father a mocking bow and a smile so bright Cerelle actually feels like crying.

They were not the ones at wrong. They weren't, they couldn't be. Not when Arya is so happy, so free by her accomplishment.

The others had to be wrong. What would she give to be able to take Arya to Bear Island for a while, where she knows Lady Maege Mormont and her daughters were warriors.

Her mother had, once, talked about them. Not kindly, mind you, Cersei did very little things kindly, but Cerelle had drank up all the information about them she could. She longed for a life like that, where they could be taken seriously by the men.

* * *

A few days later, she's again walking with Ser Aedan when Robb approaches them.

"Cerelle" he says, far more serious than the usual for him, despite being from the North.

"Robb" she smiles at him, trying to ease the tension. She hears Ser Aedan take a step back, knowing she's safe with her promised.

"A raven arrived" he says, unsure.

"Is it too bad?" she asks, remembering all too well the saying.

"Jon Arryn died"

She gasps, surprised. The man was healthy as a horse the last time she had seen him. She had even once thought his son would die before he did. She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she realizes she would never see him again.

He had been a good to her, always, and she loved him as she loved a grandfather, if not even more.

"You can cry, Cerelle" she hears Robb whisper, opening his arms to her. She falls easily there, sobs ripping from her throat.

Jon had always been someone constant in her life. He was there when she was learning to ride a horse, when she could have her first lesson on swordfighting.

He had explained what war was, how it changed people. It was him she run to, sometimes, when her Mother was too busy and her Father too absent. His wife had not liked her, not at all, but he had known to ignore her in favour of a small child that had no fault in her parent's behaving.

His son, Robin, was not the most darling child she had known, but she stills remember Jon's hand on her shoulder as she had seen the child for the first time, and how he placed the baby in her waiting arms.

He had been a Father to her own, she knew, always trying to advise him while trying to keep the Kingdoms afloat.

He had been a good man, and she was sure he had been killed. It just did not make sense for him to die.

As she lifts her face, wet from tears, to try and wipe some of them away, she notices her sworn sword still standing there.

Her mother, she remembers suddenly, and if she's honest, she cannot put it past her.

"Your family is coming to the North" Robb says, rubbing circles in her back from where he still has her in his arms.

"What?" she whispers, trying to work her head around it.

"Your family is coming. The King, the Queen, everyone"

And then she knew.

Her mother wasn't sending anyone to get her. She was coming herself to take her away.

"I...I think I want to be by myself" she whispers, not daring to lift her voice.

"I'll take you" he nods, helping her. She tucks herself under his arm, longing to feel close to someone "It's going to be okay" he says against her hair "I promise, it's going to get better"

And she really, really wants to trust him.


	7. It starts

"Robb!" Lalia calls for the young Lord when she sees him, walking down the corridor towards Cerelle's room with his direwolf by his side.

"Yes, my lady?" He asks once he's close enough.

"I need you help" she says, low so Cerelle can't hear her. Beside her, Aedan pretends not to hear them, but Lalia knows he cares as well.

"Did something happen? Is Cerelle okay?" Robb looks alarmed, and then a little angry as she spares a look towards Cerelle's sworn sword.

"She won't leave the room. I just...I worry. She doesn't usually shut _me_ out"

"Do you want me to try to speak to her?"

"Maybe you'll succeed" Lalia frowns, patting his shoulder before leaving.

Robb also frowns, looking to the princess' door.

"Cerelle?" he calls, softly knocking. Aedan walks a few feet away, trying to give them privacy.

"Please, just go away" he hears her, faintly, almost far away. Grey Wind nudges his ankle, little thing he is. He can barely walk as it is, so Robb picks him up and leans against the door to speak.

"I just want to know if you're okay"

"I'm not, now leave!"

"No, I won't. We worry about you-" he shuts up when the door opens, the princess' bloodshot eyes looking back at him.

"Jon used to worry. He was one of the few" she whispers, willing back the tears that threaten to fall.

"Cerelle" he opens one of his arms, holding Grey Wind in the other, letting her fall on him. He walks into her room, knowing that if someone saw them, there would be gossip later on, but not caring.

"Jon...Jon was there, you know? I _knew_ he cared, perhaps more than my father and certainly more than my mother" she whispers after he helps her sit down on her bed "And now...now he's gone and gods, his son is about Bran's age" she sobs, covering her mouth with her hand.

He hugs her closer, their legs touching as they sit side by side. He lets Grey Wind jump down from the bed and rest at their feet.

"I can't believe he's not going to be there anymore-what's that?!" she looks at Grey Wind, who yips at her as he runs from her fireplace back to the bed.

"It's a direwolf. Mine" he says, taking her hand. She doesn't move hers away.

"I thought there were no direwolves south of the Wall" she looks at him, her long hair framing her face with a few strands sticking to her cheeks. Her eyes look even bluer than the usual and her face is still wet from her tears, flushed after crying against him.

"So did we, but now there are five"

"Five? When did that happen? I-" she looks confused, her lips parting but no words leaving her mouth.

"Yesterday, when we were coming back. You were mourning, Cerelle, you haven't left this room for a whole day"

She's quiet for a few seconds before she dries her cheeks.

"What's its name?" she sniffs, offering it her hand to smell.

"Grey Wind" Robb smiles, looking down at his direwolf licking her fingers.

"You're not naming our children" she tells him, raising an eyebrow as she glares at him.

"What? Cerelle-"

"We know it's coming. And...and I would like to marry you, Robb Stark"

"And I you, Cerelle Baratheon"

She raises from the bed, a closed lips smile making it's way into her face.

She sits on the floor, her back resting against his shins and pats her leg to call Grey Wind to her. The direwolf jumps into her lap, putting his paws on her chest, nuzzling her cheek with his wet nose.

She lets out a broken laugh, burying and running her fingers through his fur.

Robb slips down, putting Cerelle between his legs and passing his arms around her to bring her closer to him.

With a kiss to her temple, he lets her play with his direwolf for a while. And if she cries, he just lets her.

* * *

Two weeks pass since Jon Arryn's death before Ned calls for her and Robb.

"My lord" she says, entering the room.

"Princess, please take a seat" he gestures for the chair beside Robb. She does so and notices he looks somewhat nervous.

"Is something the matter?" she asks, not knowing who to look at.

"I did not tell you any sooner, respecting your mourning, but seeing as the King is expected in two more weeks and you do need some time to prepare, I saw fit telling you today" Ned takes a deep breath, like he's preparing himself and Cerelle can't help the feeling she knows what he's about to say "The King wants you two to marry while he is here"

While it does not surprise her, it does shake her. For a not so fleeting moment, she thinks she always thought Jon would be there for her. Not having other option than accepting it, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Very well" she says, turning to look at Robb. If he sees the tears on her eyes, he does not mention them "It was about time anyway, wasn't it?"

She would be fooling herself if she didn't admit that she thought him handsome, kind in a way not many were. It was not mad to say she could love him and not a forced love, not what she always saw down in the South, but what she had seen here in the North between his own parents, who could build a love strong enough, sturdy enough to last.

She wanted that.

* * *

"Lady Stark?" she knocks on the Lord's chambers which they share, waiting for Catelyn to open the door.

"Your Grace. Something happened?"

"No, nothing bad, I promise. I was just thinking...my mother is coming for the wedding, and she's going to want to do it her way. If we were to plan everything beforehand… she wouldn't have the chance" Cerelle speaks, twirling a lock of her raven hair.

"Let me talk to the Maester. We can start tomorrow" the older woman smiles, nodding to the princess.

With an even bigger smile, Cerelle bow hys and leaves.

It was going to be a Northern wedding, her mother be damned.

* * *

"Cerelle?" the next day, a shy knock brings her out of her concentration.

"Yes? Come in" she says to who she is pretty sure is Sansa. Not being wrong, the young lady comes into her chambers.

"Your Grace" the redhead bows.

"Please, stop that nonsense, Sansa. We're going to be sisters, you and I, there is really no need" she shakes her head smiling, beckoning the girl over.

"I was wondering...well...you see…"

"Out with it. I don't bite!"

"I was wondering who was going to make your wedding cloak" Sansa looks down, twisting her hands.

"Well, I always wanted to use my grandmother Cassandra's cloak as Baratheon. My sister was supposed to bring it and then take it to use it herself, that was our deal" Although she did doubt their mother would actually allow the younger sister to use it. Cerelle smiles, remembering how Myrcella had promised several times to see that it was packed, back when Cerelle had left for Winterfell. She had been so excited about the wedding. "But…" she frowns "I don't know about the Stark one…"

"Well, I can make it! If you don't mind, that is!"

"Oh, Sansa, do you mean it? I would love it! A Stark cloak made by a Stark herself-I love the idea. Thank you, Sansa, it would mean the world to me"

And it would take a weight off her shoulders. It was not easy, planning everything. As she had been informed after Lord Stark spoke with her, several ravens had been sent already to castles all over the Seven Kingdoms, so everyone they saw fit inviting would be there in time, a week and a half after the arrival of the King and his court.

Since it was a princess marrying, all the important lords and ladies were to be present, along with some not so important from the North.

* * *

"Maester Luwin, I don't know if I can"

"You'll do just fine, child, you have nothing to fear" the old maester tries to calm her down, but after several times, she still can't remember all the steps of the wedding, simple as they were.

"I should have just asked to be married under the New Gods, at least I know what to say then"

"Northern wedding as much simpler and quicker than the ones of the New Gods. You don't have to say much-"

"But I have been going to weddings back in King's Landing since I was a child! I just feel like I'll look at him and start saying 'Father, Smith, Warrior'" she groans, hiding her face in her hands. She's quite impressed with the fact that the Maester still hasn't given up with her nonsense. If she's honest with herself, she's panicking over literally nothing.

"There have been Northern people married under them, despite the fact that they did not follow them. It's not quite uncommon, and young Robb does follow them, as well as the Old Gods"

"As tempting as it sounds, I'll be marrying the future Warden of the North. I do not think the North would like to see him married as a Southerner"

"Lord Stark himself married as a Southerner. Granted, he did have a small ceremony afterwards in Riverrun's Godwood, but still, he was married under the New Gods"

"Yes, but his bride was not part Lannister. People will never completely trust me and I know that, I do" she sighs "Let's try it again"

* * *

"Is there anything else you need, Your Grace?"

"I don't think so, unless we're forgetting something. Lady Catelyn?"

"I think that is all. Thank you both for the help. Cerelle, if you could please stay"

"My lady, Your Grace" Maester Luwin bows his head, leaving the two women alone.

"It was no trouble, really, my lady"

"I want to talk to you. You've been here for such a long time and I haven't been the best to you. You are alone, and I did not welcome you as I should have. I guess I was jealous"

"My lady-"

"No. It was my fault. Since you are marrying my son in less than two weeks, I want to get to know you. I should have done this a long time ago" Catelyn grabs her hand, giving the girl a bright smile.

"I...I don't know what to say"

"Tell me about you. Just...let's talk"

They speak until nightfall, when both leave for supper.

And when she sits beside Robb, giving him a smile, she finally stops feeling like an outsider.

* * *

"Are you nervous?"

"Because my family is expected to arrive today, not counting the fact that several Lords and Ladies have already arrived, and that means my wedding is just around the corner? Not at all" Cerelle says, rolling her eyes and trying very hard to swallow her nerves.

"I meant nervous because you haven't seen your family in such a long time"

"I don't know. Yes, I guess, but also…I don't know. It's hard to explain. I missed them, I truly did, but...you know how things were"

"Yes, I know" Lalia nods, not looking at her. Cerelle knows her since they were little more than babes, so she knows when her cousin is avoiding something.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little"

"Lalia...I think we need to speak" she tries to start a conversation, both girls knowing they can't put it off any later, not when later, spies would be everywhere.

"You know what I'm going to say"

"And you know I'll ask anyway" Cerelle tries again, knowing that she can't back down on this. She can't.

"You need me here"

"The girls will need you there, too"

"You can't just ask me to leave you here!"

"And you can't expect me to throw those girls to the lions alone! King's Landing is far more dangerous than the North and you know it. I'll be safe" she assures her best friend. And she expected to be. Life could be good in the North.

Her Mother had once told her, love no one but your children. She knew, even back then, that she would have no choice in that.

But in loving other people she did, and she wanted to.

"No one is ever safe" Lalia mumbles, turning to look at her.

"Then safer"

Both glare at the other, neither wanting to yield but knowing one has to.

"Fine"

"Lalia, please don't be mad. You kno how-"

"Yes, I know how it is. And I know Ned Stark is a goddamn grown man, old enough to know what he's getting himself into"

"I'm not asking for Lord Stark. I think Father may try to marry Sansa to Joffrey"

"Gods, this is fucked up" Lalia laughs, nervously running her hands through her hair.

"I know. But someone, sooner or later, will marry him"

Joffrey was not a good person. Not long ago, she had told Robb some things. Not everything, perhaps only her family knew everything, and even fewer acknowledged his horrors, but she had said enough.

She just hopped Lord Stark could see it before it was too late.

"I won't protect every girl Joffrey lays his eyes upon"

"And I'm not asking you to. Just this one" she begs, standing up and taking Lalia's hands on her own.

A knock interrupts whatever Lalia is going to say.

"Your Grace? The King is close, it's time for you to come down" Eline, her handmaid, says from outside.

"Just one second!"

"Fine" Lalia rushes to the door, opening it and stopping there.

"Thank you. I-"

"I'm not doing it for you. If I wanted to do something for you, I'd stay here"


	8. Closer

The whole of Winterfell stands waiting as the King and court start pouring into the courtyard. Placed between Robb and Lord Stark, she finds herself nervously shuffling, a tight knot on her stomach as she watches her father ride his way in. 

 

He’s not that different from the last time she saw him. A little fatter, maybe, but overall, she finds him to be still her Father. 

 

He need help dismounting, which she knows is not what he likes, but seeing as he is too fat to get down on his own, he can’t exactly refuse. 

 

They’re all kneeling, herself included, when Robert stops in front of them. Lord Stark sees the small movement of the King's hand before he raises, the rest following him.

 

“Your Grace” 

 

“You’ve got fat” her father says after looking at Ned. 

 

Lord Stark just raises an eyebrow before they break into laughter, hugging each other. She can see the love between both of them, raised together in a strange place, away from home. 

 

“Nine years, Ned, why haven’t I seen you? Where the hells have you been?”

 

“Guarding the North in your name, Your Grace, and looking after your daughter” only then does Robert look at her. 

 

“Gods, how you’ve grown! Come give your old man a hug!” he nearly shouts, opening his arms for her. 

 

In that moment, seeing her father for the first time since leaving home a year ago, she forgets she’s a princess. She just throws herself at her father, laughing and crying as he spins her around. 

 

“You look good” he says as he sets her down, taking her face in his hands “Gods, you’re a woman now. Ready to get married?”

 

“Yes” she smiles. 

 

“Good” he says then, ushering her back into line before going to greet the rest of the Stark house. 

 

She sees her mother, a good few feet away, and her youngest siblings by her side. Joffrey, the little shit, does not even dismount. She notices his eyes stuck to the oldest Stark girl. For the girl’s own good, she just wishes Sansa did not look as enchanted as she did.  

 

When her mother approaches, she waits patiently as her hand is kissed by Lord Stark and Lady Stark courtesies, her feet impatiently moving, not letting her be still. 

 

“Mother” she says, smiling wide. 

 

“Daughter” Cersei says, hugging her. Despite her mother’s furs and thick gown, her hug feels much colder than her father's “How are you, little doe?”

 

“Good, I’m good” 

 

Her father says something then. She doesn’t hear it, but her mother does. 

 

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love, and we haven’t seen Cerelle for a year. Surely the dead can wait” Cerelle had not missed this. 

 

Her father looks at her, seeing a small child in her mother’s arms. His daughter’s eyes have not changed, the same Baratheon blue he has and had enamoured him the first time he laid his eyes on her. 

 

Cersei would never hurt her. She would be in good hands in the few minutes it would take to visit Lyanna’s crypt. 

 

In truth, he just wanted to remember her face. Her voice had long vanished from his mind, and he could not remember the color of her eyes nor the exact color of her hair, though he suspected it must have been similar to Ned youngest girl. 

 

For a moment, when he had seen her, he had damned the Stark’s genes. The girl was what little he could remember from Lyanna. In his mind, he had panicked. He asked her name, and in the small second it took for her to answer, he damned Ned if he ever thought of naming her Lyanna.

 

He had wanted to name Cerelle that. He knew, the moment he came back from the hunt to discover the girl had already been born, that his child would have a Lannister name. If he thought about it, naming her Lyanna would have only made things worse. But back then, he still had her fresh on his mind and heart. 

 

Now, he knew it was his fault their marriage had failed. In the beginning, Cersei had wanted it to work. Now, both had hurt the other far too much for any peace. 

 

“Ned” he says, and his friend takes the lead. 

Luckily, Cerelle doesn’t seem hurt by it. 

 

In the back of his mind, he knows that is not good. 

 

Anyone who did not belong to an important family was to stay in a camp just outside Winterfell. As big as the castle was, it did not have much room for the enormous amount of people invited to the wedding. 

 

Robb, helping his mother call servants to show their guests to their rooms, spares a look towards Cerelle. She’s in front of her siblings, hugging the life out of them. He sees her kneel in front of them, cuping their faces with her hands and whispering to them. 

 

Prince Tommen is crying silently, and Princess Myrcella looks misty eyed as well. Robb sees Cerelle wipe Tommen’s face and then her own, kissing their foreheads before ushering them towards their mother. He sees her stand up, take deep breaths as she covers her face before straightening.

 

“Robb!” she says as she catches him watching her. He blushes, but tries to forget it as he sees her approach. 

 

He gives the last indications to the serving girl he’s talking to before turning completely to her.

 

“What can I help you with?”

 

“I was just going to ask you the same”

 

“Don’t worry about anything, we got this”

 

“Oh no, I’m helping! I’m going to be the Lady of the House sometime, so don’t expect me to just sit tight and do nothing while your Mother is doing everything!” she frowns, putting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow to him. Robb just smiles. 

“Alright”

* * *

 

The feast held in the King’s honour is Winterfell’s way of saying welcome. It’s not as grand as her wedding is supposed to be, which will be paid half by her family and half by Robb’s- not what is common, but her mother had wanted just the best for her (if she wanted her to get married at all -Cerelle called bullshit, but, well...Lannisters).

 

At the dais, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were to be seated along with the Queen and King, and just below them, their children and their friends. 

 

Of course, the moment he finishes eating, the King walks away from there. Lord Stark stands as well, but for very different motives. While Lord Stark, she has learned in her time in Winterfell, is good and kind with his people, close enough to them to know every name, her Father just wants to drink and fuck. 

 

She can see him, from her seat beside Lalia and closer to the Starks than her own family. Her Father is dancing and kissing a servant, the woman seeming enjoying it. 

 

“Your hair's getting long, Baratheon” Theon comments, sitting in front of her. 

 

“That’s the idea, Greyjoy” she smiles “I want to wear it as long as I can for a while”

 

Jon is not present. While it does not bother her, Lady Stark had been right in getting him away from her mother. She knew Cersei could very easily see him as an offense. 

 

“I like long haired women. You know what I do to them?” Theon smiles the stupid smile he gets on his face before he starts talking about sex and she has a very clear idea of what he does. 

 

“I don't want to hear!” she says, loudly as she covers her ears. Lalia laughs at her side. 

 

“Oh, are you blushing? Are you going to be blushing on your wedding night, Rellie?”

 

Oh, how she hated that nickname. Theon had decided, not too long after she first came to Winterfell, that Cerelle was far too long a name. Not happy with calling her Relle like everyone she was close to, he choose to call her Rellie, which to be honest made her feel like a five year old. She prefered to be called Baratheon over that. 

 

“I’ll. Kill you” she says through clenched teeth, though she does not deny the blush.

 

She can’t help it. Growing up, she did not know anything about what would happen in her wedding night up until she was about thirteen, and even then, she heard it from her ladies, not her Septa, who made it sound much more unpleasant than her friends when they talked about it, a few days after her betrothal was announced. 

 

Jenne, who had a married older sister, had said it was not painful if he was careful. 

 

Jeyne, being daughter of a whore, said it was far from painful- pleasant, she called it. 

 

Cerelle did not know what to believe. She was unsure if Robb had any experience and while him being a Stark gave her the suspicion that he didn’t, having Theon as a friend made her doubt. 

 

“Cerelle!” she hears her name, and as she looks up, she sees her sister calling to her. 

 

“If you’ll excuse me” she says as she stands.

 

“No, I won’t”

 

“Shut up, Greyjoy”

 

Myrcella doesn’t want anything in specific, just to spend time with her sister, so Cerelle sits with her and just talks and talks until she hears a table explode in laughter. As she looks to the side, she sees Sansa wiping her face. Knowing who is to blame, she stands goes over her. In the way, she passes Robb who, having received a look from his mother, was standing to put Arya to bed. 

 

“I’ll do it” she says, kissing his cheek. 

 

“You don’t have to-”

 

“I want to” she runs her hand through his hair and smiles at him. He smiles back. 

* * *

 

“They seem to get along well” Cersei says to Catelyn, not taking her eyes off her eldest. 

 

“Yes, they do” Catelyn smiles. The girl was good for Robb, she could see it.

 

But Cersei could not. Her daughter deserved to be in a sunny place with the sea near her. She would have been happy somewhere like Casterly Rock or King’s Landing, even Storm’s End. Somewhere closer, somewhere warmer. Instead, she was up here, in the cold, far away North. It could be years before she saw her daughter again. Years before she got to meet her grandchildren. 

 

But she still had time to call everything off. She did. Cerelle could still choose. 

* * *

 

Arya looks back at her when Cerelle reach her and sighs. 

 

“Up you go, time for bed”

 

“But I don’t want to go to bed!”

 

“Should have though about that before you threw food at your sister. Where are your brothers?”

 

“They were talking to Prince Tommen” Arya says as she stands up. 

 

Cerelle can see the three children, all of them trying to speak through their yawns. 

 

“Alright, let’s get them all to bed” Cerelle sighs, pushing Arya to start walking. 

 

“Time for bed, boys!” She says, placing a hand on Tommen's head. Her brother looks up at her and nods. 

 

She holds Rickon up, placing him on her hip as she starts ushering Bran and Tommen up. 

 

“Cerelle! Give me Rickon. I didn’t think you were going to take all of them to bed!” Robb says, taking his brother from her arms. 

 

“Well, they were falling asleep, what else was I supposed to do?” she says, taking Tommen in her arms. The boy is way heavier than she remembered, but he was still her little brother and she liked carrying him. Making him put his legs around her waist, she grabs him firmly and starts walking, Arya and Bran behind her while Robb catches up to her. 

 

They part ways in the courtyard, Robb taking his siblings to the Great Keep while she takes Tommen to the Guests House. 

 

She carries him to the room he’s been assigned, close to their Mother’s chambers. Per Cerelle’s own request, the King and Queen do not share a room. Things would be easier this way. 

 

She puts on his night clothes and kisses his forehead. 

* * *

 

She meets Robb close to their Tower, now childless. 

 

“I can see us like this in a few years” he smiles as he offers her his arm. 

 

“So many?! Gods, my poor body” she laughs, looking up at him with a smile as she takes it. 

 

“I want ten” he says, completely serious until he sees her face. Only then does he break into laughter. 

 

“It’s not funny!” she hits his arm, laughing but only a little, not able to help it. 

 

Truth be told, Robb did want many children. He had five brothers and sisters; he was used to the laughter and the fights and the company that it meant. To have only two or three children, in his eyes, meant less happiness around. 

 

He’s old enough to still remember Arya, Bran and Rickon as babies, the smell that comes with them, the sweet, toothless smiles that they always carried. 

 

In his eyes, children are a blessing. 

 

Cerelle hated wet nurses. And she knew, from what ladies said back in King’s Landing, that too many children meant having someone else taking care of them. She wanted to hold her children and feed them herself, to be able to be there for them without stretching herself too thin. She wanted her children to have good, happy memories of her as their warm, loving mother. 

 

She wanted for them the childhood she did not have. 

 

“Shall we go back to the feast, Your Grace?”

 

“It would be my honor, My Lord”


	9. The Wedding

The day of her wedding, Cerelle wakes to Lalia opening her window.

"Gods, Lalia! It's freezing out there, close it!" she says as she buries herself deeper in her furs.

"It's snowing!"

"What?!" suddenly, she's wide awake. It is freezing, but it doesn't really matter as she leaps from the warmth of her furs to cling to window, looking outside.

Everything is covered in a white, thin layer of snow. The roofs of the towers of Winterfell, the ground of the courtyards. From the sky, little snowflakes fall.

"The godswood will look beautiful tonight" Lalia breathes. Even with all their time in the North, both still feel amazed with their summer snows.

"Supposing the snow will stick" Cerelle frowns, looking back at Lalia.

"Maester Luwin says it might be snowing the whole day"

"We have to take Tommen and Myrcella outside!"

* * *

Their mother is not as happy as Cerelle with the snow. She says it will only make things worse, a mess when it mixes with the mud. That they could get sick, that she should be taking care of herself the very day of the wedding - if she  wanted  to get married, because if she only said the word, they could call the whole thing off.

Cerelle did not listen to her. She took her siblings outside along with the Stark children and made them feel their age. She watched as they played not as princess and prince, but just as  children .

Cerelle wishes she had memories like that, she thinks as she watches Bran throw a snowball at Myrcella. With no Septas or older ladies watching over her, tutting and worrying and hovering.

She never felt like just a child. She was always a princess.

Rickon comes to her, tugging on her dress and begging her to come play with them. She can't really refuse him.

She has lunch in her chambers with her siblings and Lalia, not able to see Robb until the moment of the wedding. A servant comes to whisk Myrcella and Tommen away the moment they finish eating, and Lalia leaves to get ready herself.

Lalia's mother had not come with the court, but her brother Tyrek had. She had wanted to spend time with him, despite the fact that they were to travel together back South.

Cerelle understood. Just like her, Lalia was closer to her brother than her other family.

* * *

Eline draws her a bath and readies her dress. Despite being her handmaid, Cerelle doesn't call for her often. Mostly to bring her food and draw her baths, Eline always worked for her with a smile on her face.

"I didn't ask before" Cerelle says as she dips into the water, Eline having her back turned towards her.

"What, Your Grace?"

"You're still being my handmaid after today, right? You can turn around" she asks as she covers herself with the water.

"Yes, Your Grace" Eline says as she turns around.

"Good! I trust you, Eline. I wouldn't feel this comfortable with another person" Cerelle smiles at the girl and the beam she receives back lets her know Eline likes her just as much.

She washes her hair and covers her in scented oils, helping her into her smallclothes before taking out her dress.

It's ivory white, with a high neck and long sleeves to ward off the night's chill. Black buttons run down her spine, making it impossible to put on by herself. It hugs her chest closely, fanning out at her waist. It does wonders to her figure.

Eline puts a towel on her shoulders before she starts to brush her hair, so it does not wetten her dress. She cuts the tips of her hair, no more that three fingers. She leaves to fetch her shoes as she waits for her hair to dry, sitting close to the fire.

She realizes suddenly, she's not coming back to these chambers. From that night on, she was to share a bed with Robb.

While it does make her nervous, it also makes her giddy. Robb was a great young man, not only handsome but also honorable, gentle and, even better, she had had a year with him before having to marry.

Between lessons and training, their year had been littered with time together. Rides to the woods, trips to the Winter Town, walks around the godswood. While they were usually followed closely by a chaperone, sometimes an adult, sometimes the children, it had not stopped them. They talked and laughed and talked some more every time.

By the time her hair is dry, her stomach is a ball of nerves. Eline brings, along with her shoes, a cup of calming tea, but even that does little to soothe her.

A knock in the door makes Eline stop braiding her hair for a moment.

"Come in" she calls before her handmaid can drop her hair and have to start again.

Her mother comes in and, as soon as she senses Eline wants to drop her hair and run away, she puts a hand on hers.

"You can continue, Eline. Don't want to ruin all your hard work" she tries to calm the girl. In the back of her mind, she knows she's doing this because she doesn't want to be left alone with Cersei.

"Yes, Your Grace" the girl says, starting to work again. Her hair is being braided up, with grey ribbons between her locks.

"You look beautiful, child" her mother says. Her long blonde hair is up, her dress a deep red with golden accents. Despite being married to the King, her mother had never left behind her House.

"You too, Mother" Cerelle says.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Most wonderful" she smiles and hopes it's enough to convince her mother.

"It's ready, Your Grace" Eline says from behind her.

"Go fetch the King, then" her mother tells Eline, coldly.

"Yes, Your Grace"

"Eline!" She calls for her handmaid seconds before she leaves "Thank you"

"You're welcome, Your Grace"

"Are you completely sure about this, Cerelle? You still have time to regret this. Once you go down-"

"I want this, Mother. I like it here, and I like the Starks" she tries to put her foot down. It's not something she's used to do regarding her mother, but she guesses it's time she starts to.

"You're too much like your father" Cersei says then, and Cerelle can't help but think that she doesn't mean it in a good way.

Before either of them can say anything else, the door opens and her father comes in.

"Ah, my child! You look beautiful!" He yells, walking closer to her. In his arms, he carries her maiden cloak. He has his crown on, just as her mother has her own, but she knows he's not going to be officiating the wedding. Like the customs dictate, Lord Stark, being the groom's father, will stand with them under the Heart Tree.

Cerelle knows, then, that they're only using their crowns because of how many Lords there are. Back in King's Landing, her father only used his crown in the Throne Room.

The crowns identify them as King and Queen. They need to stand above the others, they need to be seen as people worthy of respect, otherwise they would hold no real power. To be seen as equals by other Lords could easily become a rebellion.

And yet, she wishes they could be just a little warmer, just a little kinder to the rest.

So they would inspire real respect.

"Thank you, Father" she smiles.

"Your sister sent this" he says as he stands behind her and helps fastening it around her neck "I had forgotten all about the bloody thing, but Myrcella remembered to bug Renly to bring it from Storm's End the last time he was there"

"Is Uncle Renly here?" she asks. Her youngest uncle, far closer to her age than any other, had been one of the kindest people in her life. He was one of the few that actually paid attention to her.

When she was younger, her uncle had taken her to spend a month in Storm's End. He had devoted himself to her, spending time with her everyday, eating their meals together, riding to the closest town.

"Aye. He and Stannis. Now, are you ready?"

She takes a deep breath before saying yes.

Her mother goes down before them to take her place in the crowd in the godswoods. Despite the fact that her wedding is a big affair, only the most important Lords and Ladies have place in the woods, as it can not hold too many people.

The rest of them would have to wait for the feast. And since Northern weddings take place in the early night, all around Winterfell tables had been set, so people could feast not only inside but also outside.

As she goes to the godswood, she can see many lords and ladies she does not know. In the last days, many new faces had been given a name, but for the love of the gods, she could not remember them all.

The godswoods' grounds are stark white, covered in a layer of snow. She can see what she can only guess are Dornish lords, shivering in their boots. The faces of the people around her are only dimly lighten by torch that mark the way she is to walk. The heat that comes from her father's arm keep her grounded, and the shadows dancing across the guests' faces help soothe her nerves.

She can distinguish her family standing front, her three siblings and Mother and all her Uncles. It's a bit hard not to notice her Uncle Jaime, with his golden armor and white cloak, or her Uncle Tyrion, with his...stature. Her Uncle Renly can be seen too, with clothes in the latest fashion, whispering to her cousin Shireen.

On the other side, she can see the Starks and smiles when young Rickon waves to her, almost jumping in his place. His mother puts a hand on his head to keep him in place. Jon is standing there, at the end of the line beside his uncle Benjen, who she had met a few days before, but  there.

By the time she stops walking, she's standing in front of Lord Stark and Robb.

He's clean shaved, his dark auburn hair combed back. He's dresses in a dark tunic with direwolves embroidered in his chest. Behind him, Lord Stark is standing, a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Lord Stark starts.

"Cerelle, of House Baratheon, comes here to be wed" her father answers. For a moment, she's surprised he knows how it goes "A woman grown, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Robb takes a step forward, standing before father and daughter.

"Robb of House Stark, heir to Winterfell" he answers in what he hopes is an assured voice "Who gives her?"

"King Robert of House Baratheon, who is her father"

"Princess Cerelle, do you take this man?" Lord Stark asks.

"I take this man" she answers. Her father takes her hand and places it upon Robb's.

Robb then takes her other hand, guiding her under the heart tree. They kneel, and giving the other one look and a smile, start saying:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger"

"I am his and he is mine" Cerelle says, as Robb says the same for her "from this day, until the end of my days"

They then rise, and she turns around so Robb can take off her cloak and put on the one that Sansa offers him.

Cerelle can see Ned, surprised but happy. They hadn't told anyone of the changes they would make, but as she looks around, she can see that no one looks angry.

Robb then taps her on the arm and she turns, taking his hand and facing the crowd. They explode in applauses, yet not the loud type, but a respectful one, seeing as they are in a sacred place.

  
She looks at Robb and he looks at her, lifting her hand to his lips and placing a kiss on it.


End file.
